


A Series of Firsts

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Words Unspoken [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Biting, Bottom Hannibal, Covert declarations of love, Crying, Episode Fix-It: s02e13 Mizumono, Everything sounds romantic in French, Feelings, Fingering, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Hannibal is helplessly in love, Hannigram - Freeform, Homophobia, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Language, Murder Family, Naughty Hannibal, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Romance, Running Away, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sexual Tension, Surprises, Taking the lord's name in vain, Top Will Graham, Topping from the Bottom, What Was I Thinking?, Will Loves Hannibal, Will is a sassy little bitch, Your friendly neighbourhood psychopath, beautiful idiots, flirtation, season two, this is sappy af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10051157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: Will and Hannibal decide not to have Jack over for dinner.





	1. Baltimore

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I’ve just spent a week in hospital with tonsillitis and an abscess, and not having a kid pull on your arm every five seconds is really fucking relaxing!  
> I realise this is very different than the other instalments of this series, and it could be read as a standalone. It’s supposed to tie into it however, following on from The Doe.

**1\. Baltimore  
Where Hannibal makes Will happy**

“We could disappear now. Tonight.”

Will sets his glass back on the table because if he doesn’t he’s going to drop it, and just looks at Hannibal, uncomprehending.

“Feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana. And never see her or Jack again.” The faintest of smiles quirks his lips. “Almost polite.”

Will forces a smile in response, because he can feel the hysteria bubbling beneath his skin. “Then this would be our last supper.”

Hannibal looks away to survey the table. “Of this life. I served lamb.”

He can’t stop fiddling with the stem of his wine glass, can’t bring himself to look Hannibal in the eye. If he does, the whole sordid plan will spill out of him. Instead he frowns at the lavish display in front of him. “Sacrificial.”

Hannibal draws a breath next to him, impossibly heavy and entirely uncharacteristic, and looks at Will again. On anybody else, Will would call the expression on his face imploring. “I don’t need a sacrifice.” At that, Will’s breath catches in his throat, and he finally meets Hannibal’s eyes. He still looks so impossibly earnest. “Do you?”

The seconds tick by as they look at each other, the candle light painting flickering shapes on Hannibal’s face, and Will draws his hands into his lap, tearing his gaze away from Hannibal’s for a moment. Deep breath. “Where would we go?”

He looks up again to see Hannibal smile, wider and more genuine than he has ever seen him do. It’s incredibly frightening, all teeth. Like Will is dinner. He realises with a mixture of horror and amusement that his cock throbs between his legs at that smile, and he laughs softly.

Hannibal reaches across the table, placing his hand on Will’s. “Have you ever been to Paris?”

Will shakes his head. “Never had the money when I was young, didn’t have the time when I had the money.”

Hannibal is drawing little circles on the back of Will’s hand with his thumb, which is really fucking distracting. He smiles slyly. “There are many stray dogs in Paris.”

Will laughs because that is just so patently ridiculous. He turns his hand over so their palms touch and cocks his head to the side. “Am I right in assuming you’ve already arranged everything?”

Hannibal nods, just once, and so it’s settled.

Will Graham is running away with the Chesapeake Ripper.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Will offers to clear the table and wash the dishes while Hannibal packs, even though he thinks it’s stupid as everything’s just going to end up in some FBI warehouse anyway, but Hannibal insists.

“It’s important how one presents oneself to the world, dear Will,” and damned if Will’s heart doesn’t give an odd little flutter at being addressed in this fashion, “and it wouldn’t do to have pictures of my dirty dishes floating around.”

Will laughs in disbelief and shakes his head, making a shooing motion at Hannibal. “You’re the one who wanted to run away with me, so get a move on.”

Hannibal doesn’t, of course. Instead he steps forward, into Will’s space until they’re breathing the same air, and gently places his hand on Will’s neck. Will is almost certain that he’s staring, looking rather like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. Hannibal’s fingers curl around his neck, long and pleasantly warm, and Will thinks how little effort it would take him to just snap his neck. The thought is both terrifying and vaguely arousing. Hannibal leans forward another fraction of an inch now, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Will finds himself transfixed by the sight. “So impatient. I wonder. Which other situations are you going to be impatient in?” And with that, he releases Will, turns around and leaves the room.

Will continues to stand there – like an idiot – for almost thirty seconds, fighting with the righteous indignation at being called impatient when he’s been the most patient person _in the world_ when it comes to Hannibal’s bullshit, and more importantly with the awkward boner he’s developed. Finally, he turns and tackles the dishes which of course need to be washed by hand because the lacquer is too fucking _delicate_ for the dishwasher.

Hannibal takes his sweet time, so much so that, by the time he has carried all of his suitcases and bags into the hallway, Will has cleaned, dried and put away everything and has taken out the trash (because God forbid the FBI find a smelly house). He is wiping down the counter when Hannibal returns, and looks up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Is your highness done yet?”

Hannibal honest to God _smirks_ at him. “The correct form of address would actually be ‘my Lord’.”

Will stares at him, then drops the sponge he was using into the sink. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

He’s behind Will all of a sudden, caging him with his arms against the counter. His breath is hot against Will’s neck, and Will can’t suppress the shiver that runs down his back when Hannibal’s lips brush against his ear when he speaks. “So I’ve been told.” They stay like that for a moment that feels much longer than it actually is, before Hannibal steps back, taking Will’s hand and pulling him around to face him. His eyes seem almost black in the dim light, and Will’s throat works as he swallows, his hands twitching. Hannibal’s voice is serious, his face unreadable. “Are you certain that this is what you want?”

Will studies his face, the elegant lines of his cheekbones, the dip of his cupid’s bow, and he raises his free hand to cup Hannibal’s cheek. “Yes.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They take Will’s car for the drive to Wolf Trap, even though it visibly pains Hannibal to leave the Bentley behind. Will snorts a laugh as he lifts the last of the suitcases into the trunk. “Quit pouting. That thing is way too conspicuous.”

They don’t talk much on the drive. Will is too lost in thought, still marvelling at his decision. He had been ready, no, _committed_ to sending Hannibal to jail. Intellectually, he knows that’s where he belongs. He _eats_ people. He killed Abigail. He almost killed Will, through the hands (or claws, as it were) of Matthew Brown.

But the longer Will thinks about it, the clearer it becomes that he never really had much of a choice in this. It was always going to be the two of them, until one or both of them was dead, consequences and collateral damage be damned. This seems like a better alternative. Not that they’ve reached the end of the line yet.

Will lets the car roll to a stop in front of his house, and inside the dogs immediately start barking. Something twinges painfully in his chest at the sound, and he draws a shuddering breath before getting out of the car. Hannibal follows a moment later, and together they climb onto the porch.

“I know how hard this must be for you.”

Will shakes his head. “I know they’ll be in good hands.” He unlocks the door and the whole pack comes swarming out, snuffling and wagging their tails before running off into the yard to pee. Will watches, acutely aware that Hannibal is watching him. After a minute, Will asks, “Why didn’t you want to kill Jack?”

Hannibal leans against the banister, smiling softly. “As hard as it may be for you to believe, I do consider him my friend. I would not have been happy to kill him.”

Will laughs in disbelief. “He wants to see you in jail. With the list of things they want to pin on you, you know that means the needle.”

Hannibal nods. “Still.”

They continue to watch the dogs a moment longer, until finally Will turns and walks into the house.

Preparing the dog food takes longer than packing. His house holds few items of sentimental value, and his clothes are nothing he can’t get in any department store anywhere in the world. The one thing he can’t leave behind is his parents’ wedding picture. They look so ridiculously happy.

Will has spent many hours staring at this picture, at his mother, trying to figure out what she was like. What music did she listen to? What was her favourite colour? Chocolate or vanilla? His father was never much help, quite the opposite. Talking about her usually led to sullen silences, or Will getting dropped off with whatever neighbour would look after him.

Will spent a lot of time at some neighbour’s house or another.

He tucks the picture into his suitcase, a sense of melancholy descending on him, and he walks back outside where the dogs have finished eating under Hannibal’s supervision and now lie around the porch in varying degrees of sleepiness.

Will sinks into the deck chair next to Hannibal’s and accepts the coffee mug the other hands him. “Thanks.” He takes a sip before nodding at the dogs. “Half an hour, then they’ll have to go again.” His fingers tighten around the mug. “Then we can leave.”

Hannibal nods in acknowledgement, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a passport. “I took the liberty of having this made for you.”

Will takes the passport and flicks it open. “Seriously? _John Milton_?” Hannibal shrugs with a small smile, a graceful roll of his right shoulder, and Will has to laugh again. “You really are a pretentious bastard.” Hannibal smiles lop-sidedly, and it looks so charming that Will has to look away or blush to his roots.

They sit in silence, sipping their coffee (with Hannibal not complaining _even once_ about how horrible it is) until the dogs rise again one after the other and amble into the yard to do their business. Will takes that as his cue to get up as well. He walks back into the house and finds a pen and paper, and sits down at his kitchen table.

He stares at the blank page in front of him for a good three minutes. How is he supposed to tell Alana what he’s doing? Why he’s doing it?

If he tells her the truth, there are really only three ways in which she’s going to react. One, simply not believe him. At all. Two, think he’s sick again. Or three, blame everything on Hannibal.

Not that she would be entirely incorrect.

Then again, Will is definitely over people thinking he has no agency of his own.

In the end, he only writes a short note that he has to go away for a while and needs her to look after his pack. _‘Don’t come looking for me, Alana. Please. I’ll be back for them.’_ That’s probably a bold-faced lie but it helps put his mind at rest at least.

Hannibal is where Will left him, the coffee mug still in his hand. “We should probably wash those before we leave.”

“Worried about how people will see you?” That insufferable smile again.

“No.” Will takes the mug from him and walks back into the house. “But when they find two used mugs here, guess what they’re going to think.”

Hannibal leans against the kitchen doorway, watching him as Will cleans the mugs. “They’re going to think it either way, Will.”

When Will is done, he whistles, and the dogs come bounding into the house a moment later. He sinks to his knees in the middle of his kitchen, burying his fingers in fur, letting them lick his face, and now the tears come as he says his goodbyes. Hannibal watches silently, and when Will finally gets to his feet, he wordlessly puts an arm around his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. It’s oddly touching in its awkwardness.

Will pulls out his phone as they pass through the living room and pulls up Alana’s number. “I’ll leave this here.” Hannibal stops in the doorway, one eyebrow cocked, and Will presses the ‘dial’ button before placing the phone on his bed. “I won’t need it any more.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hannibal insists on driving, saying there is one last thing he needs to take care of, and Will is happy to let him take the wheel. He’s emotionally exhausted and finds himself drifting off after a while.

Hannibal gently shakes him awake two hours later. “We have arrived at our destination.”

Their destination, it turns out, is a house on a cliff, a 1970s monstrosity made of glass and concrete that Will would have thought much too crass for Hannibal’s taste. Then again, this is a man who shamelessly wears three piece suits made entirely of tartan _and_ combines them with paisley ties, so taste is obviously something with a broad definition in the world of Hannibal Lecter.

Hannibal leads him into the house, watching him curiously, and Will can’t help but fidget under his gaze. “So what exactly are we doing here?”

He smiles enigmatically. “I need to pick something up.” He motions at the no doubt terribly expensive couch. “If you would wait here.” He disappears down a hallway and Will sinks down on the couch, drumming his fingers on his thighs. Knowing Hannibal, it’s probably some ridiculous piece of art or a bottle of wine or something.

A few minutes later, he hears footsteps in the hallway again but this time it sound like there’s two people and Will frowns. Hannibal steps into the living room and then to the side and…

Will’s eyes widen, and it feels like someone pulled the rug out from under his feet.

“A-Abigail?”

Because there she is, whole and healthy and alive, and Will staggers to his feet. Abigail meets him halfway and they fall into each other’s arms, and Will doesn’t know if the tears on his face are his own or hers.

“How?”

Hannibal smiles. “I promised you a teacup, didn’t I?”

Abigail laughs and holds out her arm to him. “You and your metaphors.”

Hannibal steps into their circle, gently winding his arms around them, and Will can’t stop himself from clinging to him like a lifeline. He collapses to his knees between them, sobbing now, and they kneel with him, holding him between them. Hannibal is murmuring what sounds like encouragement into his ear, in a language Will doesn’t understand, and Abigail is squeezing him as though she’s afraid he’ll vanish into thin air.

It takes him minutes to regain his composure, and he accepts the handkerchief Hannibal offers him, blowing his nose noisily. Abigail squeezes him once more before letting go. “You alright?”

Will looks from her to Hannibal, and smiles. “I believe I will be.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They drive to New York where they abandon Will’s car and take the train to JFK International. Hannibal hands them their tickets, and Will barks a laugh. “You were pretty sure of yourself, weren’t you?”

Hannibal smiles softly. “I was sure of you, dear Will.”

And there goes that little flutter in Will’s stomach again, and he has to look out of the window.

They walk into the airport seperately, though they never lose sight of each other. Abigail buys a ridiculous bean bag puppy in a duty free shop and waggles it in Will’s direction, and he ducks his head and grins into his $9 Starbucks coffee. Hannibal had looked downright scandalised when he saw Will walk up to the store, and Will had to beat down the impulse to stick out his tongue at him.

Watching Hannibal waltz through security is hilarious and also slightly frustrating because no one should be able to look so poised and elegant without his shoes or belt but of course Hannibal manages to do just that. Will on the other hand hops around on one foot as he struggles out of his shoes, finally straightening with his cheeks slightly flushed. He can hear Abigail snickering in her spot a few places down the line of people and shoots her a nasty glare, something that only makes her giggle harder.

They keep their distance until they’re on the plane, two seats by the window and one across the aisle, and Abigail insists on taking that one, giving Will a meaningful look when Hannibal’s back is turned. Will sits, stiffly, half expecting the plane to be swarmed by FBI agents but of course nothing happens. They fasten their seatbelts and the plane takes off, and Will realises he’s not at all surprised when Hannibal covers his hand with his own, again drawing circles on the back of it with his thumb. He looks over to find Hannibal watching him with a fondness that makes his heart stutter, and he smiles softly. Hannibal squeezes his hand.

“Thank you, Will.”

“For what?”

“Choosing me over your obligations to Jack Crawford.”

Will feels guilty about that all over again but only for a second. If he had gone through with the plan, he wouldn’t have seen Abigail again, or even known she was alive.

Hannibal looks down at their entwined hands. “I know you didn’t kill Freddie Lounds.”

Will startles at that, his eyes widening. Then he smiles softly. “Guess that makes two of us then who took credit for a death that didn’t actually occur.” He nods in Abigail’s direction, and Hannibal actually _chuckles_ at that.

“I’m glad you chose as you did. With or without Miss Lounds’ demise.”

They look at each other for a long moment, and Will smiles. “Yeah. Me too.”


	2. Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some porn-y stuff!
> 
> Anybody who knows why it's funny that they move to this arrondissement gets a cookie! :)

**2\. Paris  
Where Will tries something new and surprises himself**

Paris turns out to be just as breathtaking as Hannibal had promised, and there are indeed quite a lot of strays. They settle in an apartment in the fourth arrondissement, not far from the Ȋle de la Cité and Nȏtre Dame, filled with antique furniture that Abigail slides her hands over almost reverently. Will is certain the place costs a fortune and tells Hannibal as much but of course he only gets a non-committal smile in answer.

Will’s room is enormous, with a ridiculous four poster bed with actual _curtains_ and his own bathroom, and Abigail squeals in delight when she discovers that her room faces the street, and the Seine. Hannibal gently pushes her hair away from her face and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I thought you might like to people watch.”

Will is more than a little miffed when he walks into the – naturally lavish – kitchen the next morning to find the two of them talking in French, Hannibal as flawlessly as is to be expected and Abigail not perfect but still quite fluently, and he grumbles into his coffee mug for a bit before Hannibal finally takes pity on him and produces a laptop. “In here you’ll find the learning software Abigail used. You might find it helpful.”

Will continues to grumble a bit longer but is eventually distracted by the breakfast Hannibal sets in front of him.

Abigail raises her eyebrows with a little smile and asks, “What, no French toast?”, which of course leads into a longish lecture about how French toast is originally a Roman dish, and that there are many local names for it with no connection to France at all. Will and Abigail exchange a look and duck their heads so they won’t start laughing.

After breakfast, Hannibal takes them out, showing them the city. It turns out he spent much of his youth in Paris, not far from their apartment in fact. Will can’t help but think about Mischa at this revelation and he takes Hannibal’s hand, squeezing gently. Hannibal smiles and doesn’t let go of his hand as they walk.

They spend much of the day doing just that, just walking, exploring the little shops, taking their coffee in a charming little café near their home where Abigail more or less gorges herself on chocolate éclairs, and Hannibal buys a little set of antique china he discovers in a shop. He’s practically beaming when he comes outside again where Will is waiting, and Will raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Should I be worried, with you in such a good mood?”

Hannibal’s smile widens a fraction more, holding up the box. There’s an actual _bow_ on it, even if it’s made of twine but still. “Wait and see, dear Will.”

Abigail links arms with him on the way back and tries to teach him some French phrases, and Will can’t help but wonder if maybe he should come up with some endearment for Hannibal as well. At home, Hannibal manages to unwrap the box both carefully and with a flourish, something Will would have considered physically impossible. Inside are three delicately painted teacups, with matching plates and saucers.

Abigail frowns, and it looks so adorable Will wants to hug her. “Why are there only three?”

Hannibal smiles and hands each of them a cup. Will studies his, the corners of his mouth quirking up before he tilts his head to look at Abigail’s, and then he doubles over, laughing. Abigail looks confused and Hannibal just watches silently, until Will had calmed down somewhat. “Would you like to share the source of your amusement with us?”

Will grins broadly. “ _Please_ tell me there’s a stag on yours.”

Hannibal turns his cup so they can see the picture painted on the side, and Will collapses into helpless laughter again. Abigail is still confused, and Will points at her cup, breathless from laughing so hard. She turns her cup around, and a mixture of shock and amusement passes over her face before she picks up Will’s cup to look at the picture on it, and now she too collapses into a fit of giggles. Hannibal sets his cup down on the kitchen table and crosses his arms in front of his chest, frowning at them, and Will and Abigail only laugh harder at the sight.

It takes them a good five minutes to calm down again because every time they so much as glance at each other, they go off again. Finally, Abigail excuses herself with a giggle and a flutter of her hands, walking into her room. They can still hear the occasional giggle through the closed door, and Will takes a deep breath, wiping the tears of laughter from his face. Hannibal is still watching him, stone-faced, and Will picks up both his and Abigail’s cup and sets them next to Hannibal’s. Now the stag is framed by a doe on one side and a French pointer, a hunting dog, on the other.

“I’m sorry, Hannibal. They’re... eerily appropriate.” He chuckles, letting the tip of his index finger slide along the rim of Hannibal’s cup. “Would’ve thought they’d be too garish for your taste.” He looks up at him, his hair falling into his eyes. “Would’ve thought _I’d_ be too garish for you.”

Hannibal’s face softens at that, and he uncrosses his arms and steps closer until Will can feel his body heat through his clothes. “You’re right, in a sense. You’re crass, and can be _unbearably_ rude.”

“So are you going to eat me after all, Dr Lecter?” Will’s voice has dropped and he’s more than aware of the way Hannibal’s eyes are moving back and forth between his own and his lips.

Hannibal smiles softly, his voice a quiet murmur that sends shivers down Will’s spine. “Only if you ask me to.”

Will throws caution to the wind then and leans forward and up, pressing his lips to Hannibal’s. The other breathes a soft sigh against his mouth, and Will takes a hold of his jacket, pulling him a little closer.

It’s not a heated kiss, just a gentle exploration, testing the waters, and Will realises he could lose himself in it.

They’re both breathing a bit heavier than before when they part, and Hannibal raises a hand to Will’s cheek, murmuring something that sounds suspiciously like ‘mon cœur’. Will’s French is atrocious despite having grown up in Louisiana, but he knows enough to know what _that_ means, and he feels a blush creeping up his neck.

Abigail’s door opens and Will jumps away from Hannibal almost guiltily. He picks up the laptop and beats a hasty retreat into his room, mumbling about having to study, and damn if Hannibal isn’t smiling contently as he informs him that dinner shall be ready by 8:30, and then Will shuts the door on his stupid smug face.

He puts the laptop on the desk next to the window, then lets himself drop down on the bed, running his hands over his face and through his hair with an exasperated groan. If Will is honest with himself, he knows that things have been escalating towards this point for a long time. Probably since they first met, even though Will found Hannibal almost exclusively irritating during that first meeting.

He _still_ finds him really fucking irritating a lot of the time, he only has gotten so used to his constant bullshitting that he can better see beyond the façade. And that, he realises, is something he finds himself drawn to. More than ever.

Will is very aware of what kind of person Hannibal is, knows what he’s done, that he’ll most likely do it again.

And Will notes with detached horror that, depending on the circumstances, he’d be fine with it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hannibal serves them freshly made pasta with venus clams in a white wine sauce, and if he gives Will a look fraught with implications as he launches into a monologue about the venus clam and its cultural significance, especially as a symbol of sexual desirability, not to mention its properties as an aphrodisiac (and here Abigail blushes a rather alarming shade of scarlet), Will chooses to entirely ignore that.

The dish tastes like the sea, and Will wishes he could have taken his boat with him.

Abigail pushes her pasta around on her plate for a bit before she asks, “Did you plan on staying here? In the city?”

Hannibal gives one of his unbearably elegant half shrugs as he raises his glass to his lips, lips that Will can still feel pressed against his own if he concentrates. “For the time being,” comes Hannibal’s reply. “I thought it would be… advisable if we got to know each other better first. Figure out of we can work together as a unit.”

So many layers to that statement, and Will is getting slightly dizzy unpacking them all.

Abigail also takes a delicate sip of her wine, her eyes flickering from Hannibal to Will and back again. “I was just wondering if maybe… we could go live by the sea somewhere. I really liked the house on the cliff.”

Will is sure the grin on his face looks rather stupid but he doesn’t care. He wants to launch himself across the table and hug her. Hannibal inclines his head as he replaces his glass on the table with a small smile. “It’s certainly a possibility.”

Dessert is some sort of lemon mousse that complements the main course, and Abigail visibly has to restrain herself from licking her plate clean.

Jet lag is finally catching up with all of them in varying degrees and she excuses herself early, leaving Will and Hannibal in comfortable silence as they clean up the kitchen. Hannibal still manages to look poised and damnably aristocratic even while elbows deep in soap suds, and Will has to remind himself more than once to concentrate on the task at hand.

Afterwards, they move to the spacious (posh, pretentious) living room, Hannibal with a glass of red and Will with a tumbler of Kornog Taouarc’h, a single malt from Brittany, and he already knows he’ll never even _try_ to pronounce that correctly. Just reading the label tied his tongue in knots already.

Will drops down on the couch rather inelegantly, letting his legs fall open comfortably as he sighs, relaxing after a long day, and he jumps only a little when Hannibal sits down next to him. Long legs crossed at the knee, he angles his body towards Will’s, smiling softly before taking a sip of his wine, and Will finds himself incapable of looking away as a drop of red liquid clings to Hannibal’s lower lip for a moment before his tongue flicks out to collect it. Will’s cock throbs against his thigh, and he swallows hard before shifting, his position not quite as open and relaxed any more. Hannibal, utter bastard that he is, just smiles serenely.

Will clears his throat and takes a sip of his whiskey, closing his eyes at the hot burn as it goes down. Time ticks forward as they sit there in silence, until Will can’t take it any more. “So I guess you want to talk about it.”

Hannibal’s face is the definition of innocence. “Talk about what?”

Will groans and runs his fingers through his hair, then gives Hannibal _a look_. “You know what I mean.”

Hannibal just waves his wine glass at him, long fingers curled delicately around the sides. “Please, feel free to elaborate.”

Will laughs. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet you ran away with me.” His voice is a gentle caress down Will’s back, and he shivers.

“Yeah, I guess I did.” He leans forward and sets his tumbler down on the table by the couch before looking back at Hannibal over his shoulder. “So I take it you’re okay with it?”

Hannibal uncrosses his legs and sets his glass down next to Will’s. Their knees touch, and Will flexes his hands. There is a heat in Hannibal’s eyes that lights a fire in Will’s belly, and he finds himself leaning closer, his lips parting, and Hannibal raises a hand to the back of his neck. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks. “I have been wanting to do that for quite some time.” He tugs on Will’s neck, just a gentle pressure that guides him closer, and Will turns, one hand on the back of the couch for balance, the other on Hannibal’s thigh, the muscles moving beneath his hand as Hannibal shifts closer.

Will can feel his breath on his face now and he sighs softly, his eyes slipping closed. Hannibal’s fingers tighten around the back of his neck. “Dear Will, I have been captivated by the beauty of your mind from the moment I met you. I could see the beautiful darkness behind your eyes before you ever became aware of it.” His lips brush along Will’s cheek, and Will’s fingers twitch on Hannibal’s thigh. “Do you remember the night you got stuck in your window?”

Will laughs because of course he remembers, and Hannibal’s mouth moves to his ear.

“I know what you did while I prepared the tea for us.”

His voice is downright sinful and Will pulls back with a start, eyes wide, and Hannibal smiles so smugly Will wants to punch him. “How could you _possibly_ know?” Hannibal touches the tip of one elegant finger to his nose, and Will groans. “ _Fuck_.” He glares at Hannibal and runs a nervous hand through his hair. “You must be so _very_ proud of yourself.”

Hannibal tugs him closer again. “Quite.”

Will’s gaze dips to Hannibal’s mouth and he licks his lips. “Was there ever a point where you didn’t manipulate me?”

“I wouldn’t call it manipulation as such. Gentle coercion perhaps.”

He snorts a laugh and now reaches up and puts his own hand on Hannibal’s neck. “God, please stop talking.” He leans forward and kisses Hannibal, slides his fingers into his maddeningly perfect hair, and Hannibal actually _purrs_ against Will’s lips. His hand slides down over Will’s back, between his shoulder blades, pulling him closer, and Will grabs a hold of the lapel of Hannibal’s jacket. He leans back and _tugs_ , and Hannibal actually kind of snorts in surprise as Will pulls him into his lap, then rearranges his legs so he’s kneeling on either side of Will’s hips. Will groans against his mouth. “Take off that ridiculous jacket.” Hannibal smiles and actually complies, shrugging out of the jacket, and drops it on the ground behind him. Will raises his eyebrows and reaches up, brushing his knuckles along Hannibal’s cheek. “Am I rubbing off on you?”

Hannibal opens his mouth to answer but Will places his index finger over his lips.

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

And so Hannibal does, his arm winding around Will’s neck and his tongue begging entrance into his mouth as Will slides questing hands down his back. The muscles move beneath his skin, and Will shivers at the raw power evident there.

As Will parts his lips to allow Hannibal’s insistent tongue inside, Hannibal gives the softest of sighs and his grip on Will’s neck tightens, and Will moves his hands lower, over the curve of Hannibal’s ass. The other gasps into his mouth and Will pulls him closer, his cock throbbing in response as he feels proof of Hannibal’s arousal pressing against his belly.

Hannibal draws back and looks Will in the eye, his pupils blown wide. “Will, I...” He presses against Will, and Will smiles.

“I’m not done kissing you, you know.” He moves one of his hands to Hannibal’s head and something bursts in his chest when Hannibal turns into his palm with a breathy moan. “Yeah, definitely not done with you.” His voice is like gravel, surprising himself.

Their lips clash together again, and Will smiles to himself at the note of desperation in Hannibal’s demeanour, the franticness with which he clings to Will now. The calm, controlled façade is gone completely, and Will wonders if this is what it feels like to be Hannibal Lecter, to be so in control while everyone around him falls apart. He feels powerful in a way he never has before, the knowledge that he finally found something that will unravel Hannibal spinning through his head like a pinball.

Hannibal tastes like lemon and mint. Like secrets. Will wants to drown in him. They have been circling each other for so long that Will just wants to _take_ , finally. But the petty, vindictive part of him wants to let Hannibal dangle a bit longer, and so he puts a hand on his chest and gently pushes him away. Hannibal _whines_ at that and Will falters for half a second before he remembers all the shit he has put him through, and so he keeps up the pressure. Hannibal’s face is flushed, his lips beautifully swollen, and Will’s resolve wobbles again, even more so when Hannibal grinds against him with such unrestrained longing that Will gets slightly dizzy.

“Hannibal, _stop_.”

Hannibal finally opens his eyes and they are black pits of desire, and Will swallows, hard. He clears his throat; his cock is uncomfortably hard inside his jeans and he is impressed with his self-control when he says, “Let’s not rush things.”

Hannibal looks confused for a heartbeat, then his face becomes carefully blank. “Oh. I understand.”

He starts to move off of Will’s lap, and Will grabs him by the hips and pulls him back, hard, so there is no doubt about the hard line of his cock throbbing against Hannibal’s ass. He leans forward with a hiss until his forehead rests against Hannibal’s shoulder, and his voice is strained. “I don’t think you do.”

To his credit, Hannibal’s eyes widen, and then he has the audacity to _rock his hips_ against Will’s. “Are you sure, Will?” His voice is like velvet even though it trembles, and it takes all of Will’s control to not just flip him over and…

Instead, he pushes him off, gently, until Hannibal sits next to him again, looking at Will with a sly smile, and Will shifts until the pressure becomes at least somewhat bearable. “I just… I don’t want this to be something we just… fall into without thinking about it.”

Hannibal’s tongue peeks out between his teeth, then he licks his lips. Will finds himself mimicking the movement. “Will, I assure you, I have done a great deal of thinking about this already.” Images of Hannibal spread out on his no doubt ridiculous bed pop up in Will’s mind. Hannibal, with long limbs and miles of pale skin, gloriously naked, one hand moving across his chest, fingers carding through the fine hair there, and the other hand… Will has seen him naked, that time he caught him in the shower (though Will has been harbouring doubts that that didn’t happen entirely by accident), knows what he looks like. Knows he want to see him like that again.

But now is not the time, so Will takes a deep breath and puts a hand on Hannibal’s cheek, leans forward and presses a soft, almost chaste, kiss to his lips. “Well, go and think about it some more.” He gives him a lopsided grin. “I know I will.”

Hannibal’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and then he nods, just once. Will kisses him, one last time, then gets up and walks into his bedroom, although walking is probably the wrong word. He looks decidedly more bow-legged than he is. He catches Hannibal watching him from his spot on the couch, and he is gripped by the silly impulse to wink at him or throw him a kiss. Instead, he gives him a soft smile. “Good night, Hannibal.”

Hannibal gets to his feet, the image of self-control – except for his still swollen lower lip, the slightly mussed hair and rumpled clothes, and the very obvious line of his erection visible beneath his trousers. His throat works as he swallows. “Good night, Will.”

Will closes the door after another long moment, resting his forehead against the cool wood. His cock is almost painful at this point, and he just stays where he is, opens his jeans and pushes them down over his balls, closing his hand around himself. “ _Fuck_.” The word is forced out of him in a rush, and he knows full well that Hannibal can hear him. Probably even smell him. The thought stirs the fire in his belly again, and he gasps and curses through bringing himself to a climax that almost makes his knees buckle and stars pop up in front of his eyes.

There are heavy footsteps outside his door and then the sound of the door to Hannibal’s room opening and closing, and Will grins stupidly to himself.

That night, his dreams taste like lemons and smell like expensive cologne, and he wakes up with the feeling that maybe things really will turn out alright.


	3. Malachap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! I've been absolutely swarmed by WIPs and also general life stuff so I didn't really get to work on this all that much. It's also my very first time writing actual gay porn! *gasp* Hope everyone likes it!
> 
> I also suck a French so for the lady's text I used Google Translate, and I have no idea if it's anywhere in the vicinity of being correct. Please let me know!

**3\. Malachap  
Where Hannibal actually listens to Will for once**

They stay in Paris for a month. Abigail’s French becomes irritatingly good, and Will throws himself into studying with a vengeance until he can at least order his own food and hold a meaningless conversation.

Hannibal continues to show them around town, takes them to museums and the opera, and Will actually _enjoys_ himself most of the time. It helps, of course, that Hannibal tirelessly provides context because otherwise he’d be looking at pretty pictures and listening to rather pretentious music.

After two weeks of Hannibal’s admittedly magnificent cooking, Will is ravenous for some good old-fashioned fast food, so he and Abigail leave a pouting Hannibal at the apartment to look for the greasiest, most authentic hole-in-the-wall burger shack they can find. The burgers are limp and overcooked, the fries swimming in grease and way too salty, and the condiments bordering on going rancid, but they wolf everything down regardless.

Abigail looks positively blissful as she stuffs her mouth with fries. “I mean,” she mumbles around them, “I love his food, I really, honestly do. He’s a genius.”

Will nods, wiping his mouth with the cheap paper napkin. “But sometimes, you just need something _normal_.”

“Yes! Exactly!”

Will waves his limp burger at her. “Although you gotta admit these really are _extraordinarily_ bad.”

They walk back to the apartment, arms linked, stopping at their favourite café just around the corner from their home where they pick up macarons and three varieties of éclairs.

Hannibal is lounging in the living room, reading, and doesn’t grace them with his attention until Will leans over the back of his armchair and presses a kiss to his neck.

Abigail powers through two-and-a-half éclairs before going slightly green around the gills, and she excuses herself to her room with a groan and a hand to her stomach. Will leans back on the couch, pulling his feet up, and throws his arm over his eyes. Maybe cheap fast food wasn’t such a great idea after all.

He knows Hannibal is watching him, probably with that smug little smile of his. The pages of his book turn regularly until it’s closed and gently placed on the side table. Will knows what’s coming before Hannibal opens his mouth.

“You _reek_.”

Will’s lips crack in the smallest of smiles. “Really?”

“Yes.” His voice has an edge to it that, under different circumstances, would be enough to freeze the blood in Will’s veins. Now it’s just sort of amusing.

“Like what?”

“Old grease. Cheap meat.” Will cracks open an eye and moves his arm so he can look at Hannibal. “I want to take you into the shower and scrub you clean.” His lip curls in distaste. “But it’s _inside_ of you.”

Will chuckles. “Well, if I wasn’t so stuffed with crappy burgers and rather disgusting fries,” Hannibal gives an annoyed little huff here, “I’d go and eat some fruit or something. But as it is, I couldn’t even have a drink, I wager.”

“That’s a shame. The new whiskey I ordered for you arrived today.”

Will laughs. “It’s, what, 13 years old? Another day isn’t going to hurt it.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They settle into a routine frighteningly quick. Hannibal starts talking in nothing but French with them, and after some minor grumbling about it, Will bows to his fate and starts paying attention. Besides, listening to Hannibal speak French is doing all sorts of funny things to his insides.

He notices that Hannibal calls Abigail ‘ _ma bichette_ ’, and she tells him it means ‘my little doe’, her cheeks flushing. Will can’t help but think about the deer he and Hannibal hit back in Maryland, about what Hannibal said to him, echoing Abigail’s words, and he takes her hand and pulls her into a hug. She’s stiff in his arms for a second, caught off guard, but then she relaxes and returns the pressure.

She smells like home.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Three weeks after their arrival, Hannibal informs them that they’re going to move, and if Abigail is a little disappointed at leaving the delights of the big city behind so soon, she doesn’t show it. At least not too obviously.

In any case, whatever disappointment she may have felt dissipates the moment Hannibal places a slim folder on the table in front of them, smiling in that way of his that shows he knows a secret and you don’t.

“I have taken the liberty of finding a house for us.” He looks at Will, one eyebrow slightly raised. “By the sea.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Their house is a little cottage, sitting on a cliff, the roughness of the Atlantic crashing onto the pebble beach beneath it, and Will loves it. There is a garden, quaint and filled with fragrant herbs in the summer. Will can hear the bees buzzing when he closes his eyes, can see Hannibal, with a fedora and pruning shears, working on the plants, and it leaves him a little breathless.

The inside of the house is all old world charm, cosy to the point of almost being kitschy. The first thing Hannibal does is unpacking their tea set and placing it on a shelf in the kitchen, and Will steps up to him and wraps his arms around his waist. Hannibal sighs softly and squeezes his hand.

The closest town is called Malachap, a tiny village south of Moëlan-sur-Mer, so small there’s virtually nothing about it on the internet, as Abigail tells them. They go for a walk, a couple of days after moving in, no clear destination in mind, and after a while Will takes Hannibal’s hand again.

It feels good. Simple.

Abigail hooks her arm through his on his other side, and they fall in step, and it feels a little ridiculous but Will finds he’s grinning like an idiot.

They walk through the village, still hand in hand and arms linked, and Will notices quickly that people are watching them. Some with curiosity, some with barely masked hostility. And then there is the woman.

She’s getting her kids out of her car, all of them with bright red hair, the oldest barely 6. She looks over at Will and Hannibal and Abigail, with a smile on her face and a greeting on her lips, and then her expression changes as if someone had thrown a switch. Her face contorts into a grimace of disgust and she almost shoves her child back into the car, slamming the door behind it. Her eyes are wild as she gestures in their direction, and Will watches, fascinated, as spittle flies from her lips when she yells at them. _“Pédés! S’en allez!”_

Will looks at Hannibal to ask what she said and stops short when he sees the expression on Hannibal’s face. It’s the most open sign of hostility he has ever seen on him. Apparently, the woman catches on because she closes her mouth with a snap and just glares. After a moment, Hannibal’s face softens ever so slightly and he tuts at her. _“C’était trés brut, madame.”_

Will swallows around the sudden lump in his throat because he recognises ‘rude’ no matter the language, and he pulls Hannibal forward and away. “Come on, leave her be.” He can feel the woman’s eyes on him as they walk away, can feel the tension in Hannibal, the confusion rolling off of Abigail, and his head starts pounding.

Back home, Hannibal sheds his coat and jacket and heads straight for the kitchen. Will and Abigail exchange a look, and Abigail gestures at him as if to say ‘He’s your problem’ before disappearing into the bathroom.

Will sighs and rubs his face until he sees stars behind his closed eyelids before he follows Hannibal. He finds him flipping through his Rolodex of recipes, and Will groans. “You’re not going to kill her.”

Hannibal stills, then looks up at him, one eyebrow raised. “I’m not?”

Will shakes his head, steps forward and takes the Rolodex from Hannibal, setting it down on the counter behind him. “No, you’re not. Wanna know why?” Hannibal straightens, and Will thinks that maybe he should just hide all his jackets because Hannibal in his shirtsleeves is something he’d really like to see more often. He clears his throat. “Because I’m asking you not to.”

Hannibal cocks his head to the side. “You’d think differently if you knew what she said.”

“I don’t care what she said. You can’t go around killing people who fit your M.O. ...”

“She called us faggots.”

Will closes his mouth and meets Hannibal’s eyes. He looks calm but Will notices the tense set of his jaw, the hard line of his mouth, and Will softens. “You’re not offended.” He takes a step closer and takes Hannibal’s hand. “You’re _angry_.”

“She had no right to call us that. To call _you_ that.”

Something blooms in Will’s chest, a warm feeling that spreads through his whole body. He has never been called a slur before and he knows he should probably be offended but he can’t bring himself to care about the opinion of some random Frenchwoman. He tugs Hannibal closer with a small smile. “Are you defending my honour, Dr Lecter?”

Hannibal’s anger melts away, his frown turning into an answering smile. “Do you need me to defend it?”

Will grabs the front of Hannibal’s shirt and pulls until Hannibal has to lean down, until they’re a breath apart. He smiles lopsidedly. “I was thinking about having you help me _defile_ it.”

Hannibal sighs against his lips, and Will leans forward and kisses him. They have been doing a lot of that since that first evening in Paris. 

Hannibal pulls back slightly. “So you want me to let her impertinence slide?”

Will starts unbuttoning Hannibal’s shirt, smiling as Hannibal’s breath quickens. “I want you to think about something else entirely.” He let’s his fingertips slide through Hannibal’s chest hair, glide over his collarbone, and Hannibal shivers.

“You think my desire for you is enough to deter me from killing her?”

Will smiles slyly and tugs Hannibal’s shirt out of his trousers. “I think I have ways of distracting you.”

A muscle twitches in Hannibal’s jaw when Will’s fingers graze along his sides. “You may be overestimating how much I want you.”

Will’s grin widens because _come on_ , and he moves closer still. “And you’re probably underestimating just how much _I_ want you.”

Hannibal’s nostrils flare as he sucks in a breath, and Will can’t help the smug satisfaction that rolls through him.

Abigail picks this moment to walk into the kitchen, and the look on her face when she spots them is priceless. She actually gasps before throwing up her hands and looking skyward. “Thank God, _finally_!”

Will has to laugh. On impulse, he leans forward until his cheek rests against Hannibal’s shoulder. He’s rewarded with a sharp intake of breath, and a hand coming to rest in the small of his back. “Are we that transparent, _bichette_?”

Abigail makes a face. “100%.” She gestures at them. “Also, _gross_. Get a room.” With that, she turns on her heel and walks into her room, the door closing noiselessly behind her.

Will chuckles, still holding onto Hannibal, and Hannibal’s hand moves higher until he can slide his fingers into the curls at the back of Will’s neck. “She can be rather perceptive when she wants to be.”

“Either that or we’re just really not nearly as subtle as we think we are.” Will moves back and looks up at Hannibal with a grin. “So, your place or mine?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They end up on Will’s bed (it’s bigger and also further away from Abigail’s room). Will takes off his shirt and drops it on the floor with a cocked eyebrow, and Hannibal just smiles softly as he shrugs out of his own and actually folds it before putting it on Will’s desk. Will shakes his head with a smile. “How the hell did we end up here?”

Hannibal sits down on the edge of the bed and holds out a hand for Will, pulling him closer to stand between his legs when Will takes it. “You once said you felt like a mirror to other people. I believe our situation is much the same.” Will slides his free hand into Hannibal’s hair, and Hannibal’s eyes close. He looks like a cat, graciously allowing Will to pet him, with the threat of claws if Will were to displease him. “We are identically different.”

Will smiles as he leans down. “How philosophical.” Hannibal opens his mouth to reply but Will cuts him off with a kiss. It’s gentle at first, more exploration than conquest, and Will lets himself get lost in it, until Hannibal nips at his lower lip with sharp teeth. Will pushes, until Hannibal is on his back on the bed, looking up at Will with hooded eyes, pale cheeks slightly flushed now, and Will kneels on the bed, straddling his left leg and catching himself on his hands so he hovers over Hannibal. He cocks a grin. “Have I managed to distract you yet?”

Hannibal’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and he reaches up, fingers skimming along Will’s flank. “You’re turning out to be quite persuasive.”

Will is impossibly hard in his jeans, and he lowers himself until his weight _just_ rests on Hannibal, from chest to knee, and Hannibal’s eyes flutter closed again as Will rolls his hips against him.

“Will...” It’s a gasp, a prayer, and Will presses open-mouthed kisses to Hannibal’s jaw and down his throat as Hannibal digs his fingers into Will’s back, and Will itches to… to _possess_. It’s not a conscious decision, more instinct, when he sinks his teeth into Hannibal’s throat, just below his ear, and Hannibal bucks against him with a moan.

There’s a strange buzzing in Will’s head, the rush of his blood in his ears. He has no idea what has come over him. He’s never been particularly dominant or even assertive in bed, usually happy to go with the flow. Margot had practically steam-rolled him with little to no resistance. But now, with Hannibal? Will is done being pliant, done bending to what the other wants.

He lets go of Hannibal’s throat and watches as the blood rushes back, the skin around the marks left by his teeth blooming red while the marks themselves still stand out white. It’s a lovely sight.

Hannibal is watching him with hooded eyes. “Do you like putting your mark on me, Will?”

Will brushes the pad of his thumb over the teeth marks. “We’ve left so many invisible marks on each other. I like _seeing_ that I can affect you.”

Hannibal smiles softly. “You always have, _mon cœur_.”

“That is so unbelievably cheesy, you know that, right?” But if Will claimed he didn’t like hearing those words, especially in Hannibal’s lilting accent, he’d be a big fat liar,

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” Hannibal’s fingers skim the edge of Will’s jeans, and he looks almost bashful. “Would you let me see you?” There’s a cheekiness to his smile now. “After all, you have already seen me.”

Will laughs and leans down to kiss him, softly. Hannibal’s breath whispers against his skin when he pulls back. “I suppose it would only be fair of me to reciprocate.” He rolls his hips against Hannibal one more time before sliding backwards and off the bed. Will has never stripped for anyone before but he decides on a whim to give it his best shot now. You only ever get to undress for your lover for the first time once.

… Lover?

When he thinks about it… Yeah, that’s probably the right word.

Hannibal pushes himself up to lean on his elbows and watches as Will unbuckles his belt, slowly pulling the leather free. Will feels self-conscious for half a second, thinks about Alana and whatever the hell went on between Hannibal and Bedelia, but then he sees the look in Hannibal’s eyes, the reverence and simple adoration there, and something swells inside his chest.

He unbuttons his jeans, slowly, one button after the other, and Hannibal’s eyes keep track of every move he makes. Will turns his back on him with a smirk and slides the jeans down over his butt, and maybe he’s pulling them a little to the front, tighter across his buttocks than he normally would. He looks back over his shoulder at Hannibal, his smirk widening when he sees the hunger in the other’s eyes.

“Like what you see?”

Hannibal rises, graceful as always, and practically stalks towards him. He catches Will’s hands and stills them so the waistband of his jeans cuts into his thighs beneath his buttocks, leaning forward and licking a broad stripe up his neck before burying his nose in the hair behind his ear. “Dear boy, do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Will laughs breathlessly, pressing himself back against Hannibal. The hard line of his cock rests between Will’s buttocks, and he grinds back against it. “I think I have _some_ idea, yeah.”

Hannibal sucks in a breath and lets go of Will’s hands, spreading his own over Will’s stomach instead and pulling him against his chest as he rests his chin on Will’s shoulder. Will knows his eyes are closed, knows that he’s filing the moment away, and Will realises that he’s not just falling in love.

He loves Hannibal.

There’s a mirror to their left and he looks at it, sees himself in it, and Hannibal, and he grasps Hannibal’s hands over his stomach, and before he can stop himself he blurts out, “I love you.”

Hannibal becomes very still behind him, and Will holds his breath. Ten heartbeats later, Hannibal slowly pulls his hands out from under Will’s, takes a step back, and Will turns around. His heart is in his throat.

“How does that make you feel, Dr Lecter?”

Hannibal blinks at him, once, twice. The seconds tick by, and Will wants to rewind time, take it back. Make it unsaid. But then Hannibal’s face softens, and he sinks to his knees in front of Will, winds his arms around his waist, and Will feels very faint all of a sudden. Hannibal is muttering into Will’s stomach, in what Will suspects is Lithuanian, and Will doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Hannibal, I...”

He looks up at Will, his eyes pools of pitch. His hands move to the waistband of Will’s underwear, and before Will can process the image in front of him, Hannibal has pulled them down and _oh sweet Jesus_.

Hannibal is looking up at him with fire in his eyes as his cheeks hollow, the heat of his mouth on Will’s cock driving all rational thought straight out of Will’s head. He’s afraid his knees will buckle so he puts his hands on Hannibal’s shoulders, catching his weight on the other, and Hannibal’s fingers dig into his hips. He opens his mouth wider, takes Will deeper, and Will gasps, his blood rushing in his ears. “Hannibal, stop, I...”

If Will wasn’t _this_ close to spilling down Hannibal’s throat, the fact that Hannibal actually does stop would not just surprise but shock him. As it is, he’s too busy trying to rein in his impending orgasm, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. He’s still leaning heavily on Hannibal, the other’s hands still on his hips, his touch gentler now, and after a moment Will opens his eyes again. Hannibal is watching him, lips plump and rosy, shining with spit. He smiles, licks his lips. “I was hoping to hear those words from you one day.”

Will finally moves his hand into Hannibal’s hair, and Hannibal closes his eyes, leaning into his touch. “I didn’t know they were in me.” Hannibal looks at him again, a question in his eyes, and Will laughs softly, self-deprecating in that way he had when he was sick. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, tears stinging at his eyes. “I didn’t… I never knew if I was just… reflecting. If what I was feeling belonged to me.”

Hannibal rises, his hands on Will’s throat and cheek. His breath ghosts over Will’s lips, and he sighs softly, his eyes fluttering shut. Hannibal’s voice is low. “My beautiful, sweet boy. I care too little. You care too much.” He kisses Will, and Will melts under his touch.

He loses himself in the kiss, in its simplicity. Hannibal’s tongue begs entrance and he opens his mouth, and after a while all his insecurity is gone again. He slides his hands over Hannibal’s back, his skin impossibly hot under Will’s fingers, down to his ass. The waistband of his pants is too tight for him to slide his hand inside, so he reaches around to the front and undoes the button and zipper one-handed. Hannibal tugs at his hair and walks backwards, and Will has no choice but to follow, kicking off his jeans and underwear in the process.

Hannibal sits on the bed, breaking the kiss, and leans forward to take Will into his mouth again but Will pushes him back, growling at him. “No. I want...” He doesn’t know how to put it into words, knows only that he _needs_.

That insufferable smirk reappears on Hannibal’s lips, and he points at the potted plant on the dresser. Will cocks an eyebrow and walks over, pushing the pot aside. His eyes widen slightly before he starts laughing, and he picks up the small bottle of lubricant. “You’re horrible.”

Hannibal smiles, all teeth. He looks like the predator Will knows him to be, and the thought goes straight to Will’s cock. He’s on top of Hannibal in a flash, taking his mouth, hungrily, the bottle dropped on the sheets next to Hannibal’s head. He rubs himself against Hannibal, the soft fabric of his pants not providing nearly enough friction and Will growls into Hannibal’s mouth. “Off. Now.”

The pants are inelegantly discarded together with underwear and socks, and they hiss at the first contact of flesh to flesh. Will reaches between them, wraps his hand around them both. Strange, so strange to him.

So very, _very_ right.

He finds Hannibal’s mouth again as he strokes, and there are stars behind his eyelids. Hannibal’s hands wander, his touch gentle and precise, and Will thinks he’s going to implode from all the sensations. He can _feel_ what Hannibal feels, can feel his own skin under Hannibal’s fingertips, and he screws his eyes shut. Hannibal stills his hands, and Will draws a shuddering breath.

“Are you alright?”

Will nods, eyes still tightly closed. His breath comes out in a gasp when he opens his mouth. “I just… I need a moment.”

Hannibal nudges him, gently, always so gentle (“Except when he drugged you and shoved Abigail’s ear down your throat,” his subconscious unhelpfully supplies), until Will rolls off of him. He presses a single, chaste kiss to Will’s lips, and the overstimulation that had grabbed hold of Will recedes somewhat. “Watch, then.”

Will forces his eyes open, and his cock jumps. Hannibal is leaning back against the headboard of the bed, legs spread obscenely wide, his feet planted on the sheets, and Will’s throat is suddenly very dry. It’s exactly what Will has imagined so often during these last weeks (and before that, if he has to be honest). Hannibal is stroking himself with his left, slow, measured movements that are obviously more for Will’s benefit than for his own, and he reaches out his right hand, palm up.

“If you’d be so kind?”

Will realises he means the lube, and he only fumbles a little getting the cap open. He can’t look at Hannibal when he squeezes some onto his waiting hand but he knows Hannibal is smiling. Then again, he’s fairly sure he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the display in front of him even if he wanted to, because now Hannibal’s hand dips down, spreading the wetness over himself and _oh_.

Will watches, transfixed, as Hannibal slides a finger into himself, slowly, and he realises that even now, Hannibal can’t _not_ put on a show for him. It’s too much part of his character. His _disorder_. Will scoffs at himself, takes the profiler side of himself and shoves it into a box. No analysis now.

Hannibal is watching him, his reaction, with hungry eyes, his cheeks rosy now. The tip of his tongue peeks out between his lips, and Will reaches between his legs and places his hand on Hannibal’s, slides his fingers between Hannibal’s. Hannibal cocks his head to the side. “Moment over?”

In response, Will reaches for the lube bottle, flicks open the cap and squeezes the liquid over their fingers. Hannibal’s smile widens ever so slightly, and he withdraws his hand, grabbing Will’s wrist and guiding him.

Will has never done this, with anyone. When he was a teenager, this was only whispered about, usually accompanied by giggles and reassurances by the girls that they would _never_ let anybody do that to them, not even for a bazillion dollars, and boasts by the boys that of course they’d fucked _dozens_ of girls up the ass, and that they, too, would never let anybody near theirs. He found it immensely tiresome even back then.

Not that he had many opportunities either way.

As an adult, he simply never considered it. Now, with two of his fingers buried inside Hannibal, he simultaneously curses and thanks his younger self for not doing this with someone else.

Hannibal’s fingers curl around the back of his neck and he looks up, meeting his eyes. Hannibal licks his lips, tugs Will closer, until they are a breath apart. Will pants against Hannibal’s mouth as he presses against Hannibal’s thigh, his cock trapped between them, and Hannibal actually whimpers softly. “Now, my love.”

Will gropes blindly for the small bottle behind him as he pulls his fingers free, and Hannibal slides down on the bed until Will cages his hips with his thighs, and it’s the single most erotic thing Will has ever seen.

The thought that this man in front of him has killed, _gleefully_ , more often than Will can imagine, hits him again as Hannibal slides oh so gentle fingertips over Will’s thighs.

_He eats the rude. I’m the rudest person I know, and yet he loves me. And I love him._

_Man, we’re so screwed up._

Will spreads the lube over himself, tosses the bottle to the side. Looks up at Hannibal. There’s a darkness lurking behind him, tendrils of black that creep over his skin. Will blinks and it’s gone, and he snarls, moving forward, positioning himself. Hannibal’s hand on his neck tugs him down again, closer, until Will can see himself reflected in the bottomless black of Hannibal’s pupils.

He looks slightly mad, he thinks.

Will surges forward, _into Hannibal_ , and his mouth falls open on his gasp, his hands fisting the sheet. Hannibal moans lowly, his fingers on Will’s neck twitching. “God, Hannibal...”

Hannibal pulls him downward, shuts him up with a kiss that makes Will’s toes curl, and spreads his thighs wider. Will pants into his mouth, seeing stars again, and then he loses track of time, loses himself in Hannibal. The walls echo with the sound of flesh against flesh, moans and gasps, and then a whispered, “ _Harder_ , my love,” and Will forces his eyes open. Hannibal’s mouth is open, and Will thinks he looks vaguely surprised. If at Will or himself, Will can’t tell.

He sits back slightly, on his haunches, and the angle changes, and Hannibal arches his back on a moan that curls in Will’s chest. He quickens his thrusts, his blood roaring in his ears, and he reaches down between them, wraps his fingers around Hannibal’s cock, changes his angle again ever so slightly. Hannibal’s eyes fly open as his body closes around Will like a vice, a wild look in his eyes, and Will snarls, his grip tightening, his thrusts pushing Hannibal up the bed now, and then…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Will comes back to himself with his forehead on Hannibal’s chest.

Hannibal is gently stroking his hair with one hand, the other on his bicep, and Will realises he’s _crying_. He pushes himself up on his elbows and wipes at his cheeks, suddenly horrified. “That’s… never happened before.”

“Crying as emotional release is not uncommon after orgasm.” Hannibal’s smile turns sly. “Especially after a particularly powerful orgasm.”

Will groans. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

Hannibal smiles wider. “Have I told you about my memory palace?”

Will leans down and sinks his teeth into the flesh of Hannibal’s ribs, over his heart. Hannibal laughs, and calls him ‘sweet boy’ again.

They’re sticky and it’s too warm and Will has never been happier. 

He hisses as he slips out of Hannibal, presses a kiss to his stomach before rolling off of him, and Hannibal turns to his side, arm folded beneath his head. Will settles on his side as well, facing him. The red in Hannibal’s eyes is back, and Will runs a hand over his cheek. His lips quirk up on one side. “I think I’ll have to come up with something to call you. Can’t have you throwing endearments at me all the time and not be able to return the favour.”

Hannibal smiles, runs his fingers over Will’s side. Will squirms away. “Did you have something in mind?”

Will’s smile widens. “I was thinking maybe _sugar_.” He pulls out the Louisiana drawl, as thick as he can manage, and Hannibal gives him _a look_. “What about angel face? My peach?” The look intensifies, and Will knows he’s _this_ close to being served his own leg or some such nonsense. His smile softens, and he leans closer, until their foreheads touch. 

Hannibal becomes very still.

“Beloved. My darling. My _everything_.”

Hannibal’s breath whispers over his lips, a single word, and Will feels close to bursting.

“What does it mean?”

A sigh against Will’s lips, and he inches closer, stickiness be damned. Hannibal tilts his head so he can catch Will’s eye, mirrors Will’s touch on his cheek. “It means ‘my true love’.”

Will sits up and pulls the blanket over them, then curls up in Hannibal’s arm. There are tears in his eyes again.

They’ll definitely not need the third bedroom, he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also like to call this one "The one where Will saves a woman's life with his dick".


End file.
